Page 61 of Omega's Formula

“The cohabitation ended. That’s all. We did our two weeks, now it’s over.”

“That’s all,” Hazel repeats flatly. “You spent two weeks locked up with your prime match going through a heat and ‘that’s all’ is the summary you’re going with?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You don’t have to say anything, honey, but I care about you. If you want to talk, you know I’m here for you.”

I grab the espresso machine, loading beans and tamping grounds with perhaps more force than strictly necessary. “There’s nothing to talk about. He’s exactly who I thought he was. End of story.”

Hazel is quiet for a moment, watching me work. Then, more gently: “Nolan. You’re grinding those beans into powder.”

I look down. She’s right. I ease off the pressure and try again, my hands less steady than I’d like.

“I’m fine,” I say without looking at her. “Really. I just need to get back to normal.”

Hazel doesn’t push. She just squeezes my shoulder once, brief and warm, and moves to take the next customer’s order. I stand behind the machine and make latte after latte and pretend my chest doesn’t ache with every breath.

Normal. I can do normal.

Ellie is actually standing up when I visit her at lunch, which is new. She’s holding onto the bar at the side of the bed but she is actually standing.

She’s still pale, still too thin, still hooked up to monitors that track her vital signs. But there’s color in her cheeks that wasn’t there a month ago, and when she sees me, she actually smiles.

“You look terrible,” she says by way of greeting.

“Thanks. You look better. The treatment’s working.” I’ve been so miserable all day but now I feel a welcome jolt of happiness. This is what I did it for. Suddenly, the price was worth everything.

“Something is.” She carefully maneuvers around the bed, then sits with a sigh of relief. She pats the edge of her bed next to her, an invitation. I sink down beside her, careful not to jostle any of the equipment. “Dr. Burke says my numbers are improving. She used the word ‘cautiously optimistic’.”

I grin. ‘Cautiously optimistic’ is doctor-speak for ‘please don’t make me commit to anything but this is good news.’ Both Ellie and I have become well-versed in doctor speak over the years.

The relief that floods through me is almost overwhelming. This is why I did it. This is why I agreed to the matching, the marriage, all of it.

It was worth it. Whatever happened with Erik, whatever this hollow ache in my chest means, it was worth it for this moment.

“That’s amazing, El.” My voice comes out rough. “I’m so glad.”

“Me too.” She’s watching me now with that particular look she gets when she’s about to pry. “So. The cohabitation ended?”

“Yesterday.”

“And? How was it?”

I stare at my hands, clasped too tight in my lap. “Fine.”

“Nolan.”

“It was fine. We survived two weeks together without killing each other. Compliance achieved.”

“That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.”

I do know it. Ellie has been curious about Erik since she first learned about the matching, asking questions I couldn’t answer, constructing theories about the kind of man he might be. She wanted to believe it could be something good. She’s always been the optimist in our family.

“He’s not what I expected,” I say finally, because I owe her some version of the truth. “During the heat, he was... different. Kind. Almost tender.” The words scrape coming out. “And then something changed. He went to a meeting and came back looking at me like I was dirt under his shoe. We spent the last three days of cohabitation barely speaking.”

Ellie is quiet for a moment, processing. “Did you ask him what happened?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”